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<title>Dry Land by Weissnichtwo (LoudenSwain713)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28254276">Dry Land</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoudenSwain713/pseuds/Weissnichtwo'>Weissnichtwo (LoudenSwain713)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Ficlet, Fluff, Gen, Gift Exchange, Grumpy Quynh, Immortal Wives Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, M/M, Pre-Canon, She loves her wife though, Sleepy Quynh, not That Time in Malta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:21:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>597</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28254276</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoudenSwain713/pseuds/Weissnichtwo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"In one world, they were separated. She can almost taste the potential of it.<br/>In this world, though, they are together, and Andromache is a warm weight against her side."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Andy | Andromache of Scythia &amp; Quynh | Noriko, Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani &amp; Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova &amp; Quynh | Noriko</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Old Guard Gift Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dry Land</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay1vy/gifts">kay1vy</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I had so much fun doing this! This was my first fic exchange to take part in and I'll definitely be doing it again! </p><p>To my giftee: I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Happy Holidays!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They drag themselves from the flaming wreck of their prison with broken thumbs and bleeding wrists. They do not turn back.</p><p>Quynh looks, disbelieving, at Andromache; in her eyes are the weight of a hundred possibilities. In one world, they were separated. She can almost taste the potential of it: nights spent screaming to nothing but the sound of her one heart, a black hole in the air beside her that draws her closer and closer to nothing. In this world, though, they are together, and Andromache is a warm weight against her side. She breathes.</p><p>Quynh stands and extends her hand, now healed, and her wife takes it, a motion as natural as stringing a bow. “Let’s not do that again,” Andromache says, arm curling around Quynh’s waist.</p><p>The laugh that’s pulled from her is soft, a dissonant chord to the smoke drifting into the sky behind them. “My thoughts exactly, my love.”  </p><p> </p><p>Nicolo and Yusuf look nearly as tired as she and Andromache feel when they meet in the south of Pomerania, near its border with Brandenburg. The air is drier here, a comforting contrast to the coastal air they’ve all been too close to in recent weeks.</p><p>“How was Gozo?” Andromache asks, poking at the fire at the end of the room.</p><p>Nicolo’s expression darkens, and his eyes flick to Yusuf. “We could not save all of them.”</p><p>“We can never save all of them,” Quynh tells him, a comfort she has repeated to him many times. The younger man is rarely appeased by the phrase, but it is the only thing of any substance that she can give to him. It has been many centuries since the loss wounded her like it now wounds him, that knife-twist of missed opportunity, the wraith of failure that presses on taxed lungs. He will suffocate if he is not careful.</p><p>“But you tried, and that’s what matters.” It’s Andromache, hands warm from the fire, pressed against her back. Her optimism is too much sometimes, all-consuming and unfaltering, but for the moment Quynh allows herself to lean into it. Andromache will be there to catch her.</p><p> </p><p>Sebastien comes into their dreams with the burn of rope around his neck and the buzz of alcohol in his veins. Quynh groans as she wakes, reaching for Andromache, but the woman is already moving away from the warmth of their bed towards Yusuf and his pens.</p><p>“He’s French, with Napoleon,” she says, simple and sleepy. “Come back to bed, <em> nhà em </em>.”</p><p>The other three are crowded around the desk that’s usually littered with her and Nicolo’s books but is now covered in ink and Yusuf’s hands. There’s the low murmur of discussion as they shake death from the edges of their consciousness, and Quynh watches as Nicolo brings his hands gingerly to his own throat. </p><p>“He’s in <em> Russia </em> ,” Quynh grumbles, pulling Andromache’s abandoned blanket partway over her head. “It’s <em> winter </em>. We’ll have to wait.”</p><p>“He’s alone,” Yusuf says, quiet, speaking Nicolo’s words in a move that would be sickeningly sweet if Quynh wasn’t well aware that she does the same thing to Andromache.</p><p>“He’s French. They survive anything.”</p><p>Andromache snorts softly, amused and trying to hide it. “Quynh-”</p><p>“It’s <em> winter </em>. Good night.” She shuts her eyes, a pillow tucked over her head until all she can see is darkness. A few minutes later, after Yusuf rustles his parchment in a petty and ineffective attempt to rouse her, she feels Andromache lay next to her and finally allows herself to drift back to sleep. The Frenchman will keep until the thaw.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>nhà em - "my home" in Vietnamese...or it should be, if the internet is to be trusted. Hopefully it's right, but it not please tell me!</p><p>Thanks for taking the time to read this! If you can spare a sec, please drop a kudo or a comment &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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